a sun that doesn't set but settles
I think moms realize that we didn’t move because of some failure on their part, and that it’s not because we don’t like them, but I think it’s easy for them to start feeling sorry for themselves and thinking up stupid things like that to “explain” things. I think my dad gets it completely, it's my mom with such problems. My dad rarely emails me and when he does, he writes about 2 small paragraphs, the first one being “news and weather” and the second one saying he misses me and how I know he’s not much of a writer and can’t write long mails. Then he asks if there’s anything he can do for me (he always asks, every email, every phone call, no matter what, no matter that even if I needed something, there wouldn’t me much he could do from there!), says he loves me and signs it “Daddy.” But even though they rarely say something interesting, I think they’re the sweetest emails that I get. I wonder why that is? I was telling Clinton the other night, when I was ranting about my mom, how much I love my dad. And how at home I always get so irritated with him because he comes up and bothers me when I’m trying to do other things like write emails or watch TV, and asks silly questions, but then I feel really bad for getting irritated because it’s only because he wants to be friends and he loves me and wants us to be close.
Right now I really want to get a tattoo. My parents will go mental if I get one, and maybe I’m having a rebellious phase lately because I feel so irritated at them, that’s another reason I want to wait a few months and then if I still want it, I’ll get it in Sweden. I still can’t figure out where Clinton would get another tattoo, he said he would get another one with me. he already has both biceps (well, the top of his arm right below his shoulder, that’s not really a bicep), one on the underside of his forearm, one all the way across the top of his back, and one on his pec (the tiger, my favorite!). I think it would look weird if he got another one on his arms, and I don’t think he should get another on his stomach or back, and his legs are really skinny, maybe about the same as mine. I’m not the biggest fan of the tattoo he has on his back. It’s ok, but it’s not something that amazes me. I actually have a picture of it somewhere, I’ll see if I can dig it up. But I guess all of his tattoos really suit him. And they have all sort of been impulses, he decided to get a tat and went in and picked one there and got it. And he loves them all. But I think I remember him saying that he got them and then grew to love them. I guess you sort of have to, though. They’re a bit permanent.
Yesterday, against my better judgment, I went shopping after work. I bought 4 shirts for £11 (yes!!! I needed new summery shirts), and then I found a new pair of pink pumas just like my old ones that broke (and consequently broke my heart)!!!!! They were on sale, and even though the sale price here was about the same (maybe a little more) than I paid at home, I bought them because they are so dear to me and I know for a fact that I will wear them all the time and make the money worth it. So right now the old ratty dirty ones are sitting next to the pristine new ones and it’s really funny, I took a picture. They also had black ones, white ones, black and white ones, and then these tan and blue ones that were super cool, but they were suede instead of leather, so I thought they would be harder to keep clean. And I wasn’t sure about what colors to wear them with, and I knew that no matter what I would wear the pink ones with anything. That was a big explanation of a silly event.
Then I came home, cooked dinner, and met Rachel in Fallowfield (a suburb that’s between hers and mine) to find a pub with a patio to have a drink, but really we ended up just sitting on a pub patio and not drinking because we neither felt like spending money nor waiting in the ridiculous queue at the bar. It was quite nice, the weather has been fantastic. I have tan lines on my shoulders from lunch yesterday, which is smashing!!!
I have a lot to say about raising children abroad, but I’ll get to that in a moment after I talk about the British. Rachel and I were discussing both of these topics last night. The British, despite the romanticized opinion that most Americans have of them, are the most classless group of people I have ever come upon in my life. They’re trashy and tasteless. The “prim, proper, posh” English people you think of when you think of England are few and far between. Aside from the posh accent, all other English accents are horrendous and make me want to claw my ears out. My boss has a wonderful accent, but everyone else in the office has the most snarky Manc accent, it’s brutal.
I’d love to raise children in Europe, but never, never, NEVER in England. Little children go around cursing at each other. Rachel was walking through the park the other day, and some little like 6-8 year old boys kept saying “hey lady” or something, and when she didn’t turn to look at them, they started calling her a nasty bitch! Another case in point, I was at the bus stop last night headed home after meeting Rach, and up walked 5 girls of about 19, dressed in bikinis (3 of them actually had tiny skirts and tiny cropped tank tops), floaties, goggles on their heads, and were passing around a fifth of Smirnoff vodka. One of the girls, who had only a cropped tank top (that she’d tied up to make it even smaller) over her swimsuit, had these bikini bottoms that you should see most of her ass in, and then you could see her rhinestone-studded sparkly thong hanging out of the top of it!! Guys were creaming themselves in the street, traffic was stopping, and the sad thing is, this is not at all unusual around here. They always have fancy dress nights and the girls get slutted out and go out in virtually nothing at all. I know that we all did that a bit in college ourselves, but this is unreal, past anything I’ve ever imagined. And when we did that in college, at least in Chapel Hill anyway, it was in a college town where it was really only other college students that we saw, not traipsing all around a big city.
They think they are witty and funny, but they’re rude, self-important, and low-class. The girls all dress like sluts, the guys are pigs, you should see the way they treat each other in traffic - yelling out the window at each other, rude hand gestures - and they’re violent! There are so many brutalities stemming solely from sport. Football fans will seek out groups of fans of the opposing teams specifically to beat them up… complete strangers. And don’t even get me started on the scallies. These people are the scum of the earth, and they are everywhere. The guys walk around in their track suit bottoms with the pant legs pushed up to their knees, in their dirty trainers, t-shirts, greasy hair, and both hands shoved firmly down their pants as they walk around the city. The girls, if they decide to wear what we generally like to call clothing (it’s not unusual, especially at places like sports café) to see them walking around in miniskirts so short you can see the underside of their butts, and then shirts that are either so low cut or both so low cut and cropped that you can not only see massive amounts of cleavage, but you can actually see their entire breast aside from nipple. And you can even see that sometimes. And then there’s the bustier tops… I won’t even start with those. They drink their Stella Artois and their brandy and coke (eeeeyyyaaa, canigetta brandy n cockk, maaaaahhhnnnnn?), start screaming if they aren’t served at the bar before everyone else who was actually there before them, and start fights. The last of the major gangsters / hard core scallies were banned from sports café the other week, after they told the manager that they all are carrying knives (knives have gotten to be a big problem here in England in general), and that if the bouncers mess with them or do anything that they will stab them. So the manager who banned them is actually afraid of running into them on the street some day and getting beaten and stabbed. Two days after they were banned, the same guys gutted a guy in Brannigan’s, a pub very similar to sports café which is right down the road, and the guy was in intensive care and probably going to die. Brannigan’s was closed down for 2 days afterwards.
There’s no middle class in Manchester, there’s a very small upper class, and then heaps of working class. The scallies (who all live in Salford) are sadly stuck in this depressing circle of nothingness. They grow up with worthless scally parents that just work hard enough to get by. Work is even a strong word. They have jobs, but they are lazy as can be and don’t actually do any work. They act like scum and so they are treated like it. Their children grow up to be just like them because it’s all they know, and I’m sure if you’re treated like dirt your whole life you begin to think that’s all you can ever be. It’s really rare for one of them to rise up out of it and go to college and get a good job and make a move. So you see the 17, 18 year old scally birds walking around pushing prams, a baby in the pram, maybe one on the hip and one in the oven, puffing on cigarettes, wearing their tracksuit bottoms, dirty trainers, tight shirts, side ponytails, and hoop earrings big enough to jump through. When it’s cold out, they wear black leather gloves with all sorts of gold rings worn outside the gloves.
Clinton’s friend Mark is a scally, and even admits it, he grew up in and lives in Salford (picture Durham, but about 502332423 times worse). But his dad one day decided he’d had enough, got up out of it and got a good job. Mark went to uni and studied physics, and though he’s just working in the pub now (he’s our age), he will do something with his life. It’s not that hard to change your fortune, but most of them are just too lazy and content to go on living their scally lives to do anything about it.
Americans all have this illusion of England being this posh, proper place where people speak properly and drink their tea and sit with proper posture, but that’s not the way it is. It’s so far from it, that it’s amazing. In fact, the English use the worst grammar I’ve ever heard. They say “free” instead of “three,” they say “oh, she were visiting me last week / it were raining outside / he were busy,” and instead of “I’m sitting over there,” it’s “I’m sat over there.” That doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of it all. It’s completely absurd. Who are these people? How did they get this image in the rest of the world when most of them are complete trash? They drink not only all the time but absurd amounts, it’s completely normal to see men walking around drinking Foster’s or whatever at 9am when I’m on the way to work, it’s completely normal to see old men staggering around with a fifth of liquor at 6:00 in the evening, completely unable to control themselves. Everyone, not just drunks, but all men pee on the street, no matter who is around or what time of day. They’re brash and noisy. And then there’s British on holiday, like the one’s we’d get at the hotel in Dublin. I think British on holiday have an even worse rep than American students on holiday. They are completely ludicrous.
And how did Americans get the reputation for being such a racist country, when here people still say “colored people” and use the “n” word (I hate it so much I can’t even write it to you, my friends, when making a point)? People here are so blatantly racist. Granted, you do see a lot more interracial couples here than you do at home, which perplexes me, but it’s still completely unbelievable to me.
Ok, I didn’t exactly intend that diatribe to go on for so long, I get carried away on this subject. But back to raising children, I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit lately as well. I’d like the opportunities that come with living in Europe - a wealth of languages and cultures and opportunities for travel right at your doorstep, more importance on learning foreign languages, and more opportunity to go and actually use those languages, ability to work all throughout the EU, a wonderful world perspective like you mentioned. But then there’s the family aspect. I certainly want my children to know their aunt and uncle and their grandparents, and I want my sister and Ryan and my parents to be a part of raising my children. Besides the fact that I think the support network that comes from family is pretty necessary to not only parenting but the development of a child. Perhaps “necessary” isn’t quite the right word, but very important nonetheless. And I know that it would hurt my mother so much to be so far from her grandchildren, I’m not sure if I could do it. I know it’s fairly easy to travel back and forth these days, but I wonder if I could, in good conscience, put that stress on my mother? Rachel said she didn’t think she could, regardless of where she actually wanted to live. She said she could live and get married anywhere, but when it came time to having children, she’d have to go back to Canada and be near her mother. She also said that she thinks that at that point in your life, it is your family and maybe your work that really fulfills you, not really the city you’re in, or where you are. I thought that was an interesting point, and maybe I agree a little bit but I’m not sure how much.
I’m craving red meat, I might get a burger for lunch, which kind of goes against my whole “trying to start eating healthy again” thing. Oh well. I’m going for ice cream tonight with Rach and Sue, so maybe I’ll start the healthy thing tomorrow. I did ok yesterday. Salad pita sandwiches which Clinton made for lunch, and then I had chicken, rice and broccoli and carrots for dinner. Of course, I had a pint of Kronenburg with dinner… I’m hopeless!
About relationships, I think it’s interesting because seeing my parents when they’ve visited me here and in Dublin, they seem like they’ve gotten a lot closer since I’ve been away. I think that’s a good thing. they are happy together but before I left they never really interacted that much, they very much did their own thing, and spent time together usually only to have dinner, go to Sunday school and church, or hang out with me or Megan. But since, they’ve gotten really involved with several other couples from church, they took those dance lessons for the wedding, they go do all this stuff with their friends now… it makes me happy for them. And they were so cute when they were here, walking around holding hands, kind of like they almost fell in love all over again, but not quite that mushy or gross. Just sweet.
Speaking of my parents, I expected an email back from my mom to be waiting for me this morning but there was nothing from her in my inbox, which makes me slightly nervous since I know she got home last night. Maybe she was tired from her trip but I can’t really see her not taking a moment to check her email after being gone for several days. Maybe she will respond this morning. I’d like to go ahead and hear back from her so I have some idea of what she’s thinking. My sister said not to be worried, that she didn’t think they’d flip out too much about it.
I miss the lake. If I go home in august (which I hope I do), I can’t wait to go out on the lake, and go binge on things like chick-fil-a and Bojangles. And drive my car. And I also want to give away most of the clothes that I have at home. Because I’m still irritated about the amount of stuff I have. It is entirely too much, way more than one person could ever need. Says the girl who just bought 4 shirts and a pair of shoes not 24h ago…
Tonight I have to talk to Clinton, we really have to have someone move in with us for July because I checked my bank balance yesterday and have about 2/3 what I thought I had, so I’m even more stressed out now. I need a job for July, though I’m not sure how that’s going to work. He said sports café would probably hire me and pay me by check, but that still doesn’t solve problems because you’re still recorded as paying taxes when you’re paid by check. I should check out the Indian restaurants on curry mile because I think if there’s anywhere in Manchester that would pay cash, it would be there, but sports café might offer me a bit more flexibility since I want to be in Sweden for a week in July. Both will probably pay completely shit money though. I could have worked the door at sports café last Saturday taking cover charges, but I had already committed to going out with Keith and the girls. Though it wasn’t that fun, I should have just worked and made some extra (though little) cash.
It’s 11:30, I’m hungry already, I have no work to do an none of my bosses are in the office today again. Great.
Upon all brave new breeds of old disease
on rotten roots of family trees,
on sold out universities,
Other sunset studies and these.
Right now I really want to get a tattoo. My parents will go mental if I get one, and maybe I’m having a rebellious phase lately because I feel so irritated at them, that’s another reason I want to wait a few months and then if I still want it, I’ll get it in Sweden. I still can’t figure out where Clinton would get another tattoo, he said he would get another one with me. he already has both biceps (well, the top of his arm right below his shoulder, that’s not really a bicep), one on the underside of his forearm, one all the way across the top of his back, and one on his pec (the tiger, my favorite!). I think it would look weird if he got another one on his arms, and I don’t think he should get another on his stomach or back, and his legs are really skinny, maybe about the same as mine. I’m not the biggest fan of the tattoo he has on his back. It’s ok, but it’s not something that amazes me. I actually have a picture of it somewhere, I’ll see if I can dig it up. But I guess all of his tattoos really suit him. And they have all sort of been impulses, he decided to get a tat and went in and picked one there and got it. And he loves them all. But I think I remember him saying that he got them and then grew to love them. I guess you sort of have to, though. They’re a bit permanent.
Yesterday, against my better judgment, I went shopping after work. I bought 4 shirts for £11 (yes!!! I needed new summery shirts), and then I found a new pair of pink pumas just like my old ones that broke (and consequently broke my heart)!!!!! They were on sale, and even though the sale price here was about the same (maybe a little more) than I paid at home, I bought them because they are so dear to me and I know for a fact that I will wear them all the time and make the money worth it. So right now the old ratty dirty ones are sitting next to the pristine new ones and it’s really funny, I took a picture. They also had black ones, white ones, black and white ones, and then these tan and blue ones that were super cool, but they were suede instead of leather, so I thought they would be harder to keep clean. And I wasn’t sure about what colors to wear them with, and I knew that no matter what I would wear the pink ones with anything. That was a big explanation of a silly event.
Then I came home, cooked dinner, and met Rachel in Fallowfield (a suburb that’s between hers and mine) to find a pub with a patio to have a drink, but really we ended up just sitting on a pub patio and not drinking because we neither felt like spending money nor waiting in the ridiculous queue at the bar. It was quite nice, the weather has been fantastic. I have tan lines on my shoulders from lunch yesterday, which is smashing!!!
I have a lot to say about raising children abroad, but I’ll get to that in a moment after I talk about the British. Rachel and I were discussing both of these topics last night. The British, despite the romanticized opinion that most Americans have of them, are the most classless group of people I have ever come upon in my life. They’re trashy and tasteless. The “prim, proper, posh” English people you think of when you think of England are few and far between. Aside from the posh accent, all other English accents are horrendous and make me want to claw my ears out. My boss has a wonderful accent, but everyone else in the office has the most snarky Manc accent, it’s brutal.
I’d love to raise children in Europe, but never, never, NEVER in England. Little children go around cursing at each other. Rachel was walking through the park the other day, and some little like 6-8 year old boys kept saying “hey lady” or something, and when she didn’t turn to look at them, they started calling her a nasty bitch! Another case in point, I was at the bus stop last night headed home after meeting Rach, and up walked 5 girls of about 19, dressed in bikinis (3 of them actually had tiny skirts and tiny cropped tank tops), floaties, goggles on their heads, and were passing around a fifth of Smirnoff vodka. One of the girls, who had only a cropped tank top (that she’d tied up to make it even smaller) over her swimsuit, had these bikini bottoms that you should see most of her ass in, and then you could see her rhinestone-studded sparkly thong hanging out of the top of it!! Guys were creaming themselves in the street, traffic was stopping, and the sad thing is, this is not at all unusual around here. They always have fancy dress nights and the girls get slutted out and go out in virtually nothing at all. I know that we all did that a bit in college ourselves, but this is unreal, past anything I’ve ever imagined. And when we did that in college, at least in Chapel Hill anyway, it was in a college town where it was really only other college students that we saw, not traipsing all around a big city.
They think they are witty and funny, but they’re rude, self-important, and low-class. The girls all dress like sluts, the guys are pigs, you should see the way they treat each other in traffic - yelling out the window at each other, rude hand gestures - and they’re violent! There are so many brutalities stemming solely from sport. Football fans will seek out groups of fans of the opposing teams specifically to beat them up… complete strangers. And don’t even get me started on the scallies. These people are the scum of the earth, and they are everywhere. The guys walk around in their track suit bottoms with the pant legs pushed up to their knees, in their dirty trainers, t-shirts, greasy hair, and both hands shoved firmly down their pants as they walk around the city. The girls, if they decide to wear what we generally like to call clothing (it’s not unusual, especially at places like sports café) to see them walking around in miniskirts so short you can see the underside of their butts, and then shirts that are either so low cut or both so low cut and cropped that you can not only see massive amounts of cleavage, but you can actually see their entire breast aside from nipple. And you can even see that sometimes. And then there’s the bustier tops… I won’t even start with those. They drink their Stella Artois and their brandy and coke (eeeeyyyaaa, canigetta brandy n cockk, maaaaahhhnnnnn?), start screaming if they aren’t served at the bar before everyone else who was actually there before them, and start fights. The last of the major gangsters / hard core scallies were banned from sports café the other week, after they told the manager that they all are carrying knives (knives have gotten to be a big problem here in England in general), and that if the bouncers mess with them or do anything that they will stab them. So the manager who banned them is actually afraid of running into them on the street some day and getting beaten and stabbed. Two days after they were banned, the same guys gutted a guy in Brannigan’s, a pub very similar to sports café which is right down the road, and the guy was in intensive care and probably going to die. Brannigan’s was closed down for 2 days afterwards.
There’s no middle class in Manchester, there’s a very small upper class, and then heaps of working class. The scallies (who all live in Salford) are sadly stuck in this depressing circle of nothingness. They grow up with worthless scally parents that just work hard enough to get by. Work is even a strong word. They have jobs, but they are lazy as can be and don’t actually do any work. They act like scum and so they are treated like it. Their children grow up to be just like them because it’s all they know, and I’m sure if you’re treated like dirt your whole life you begin to think that’s all you can ever be. It’s really rare for one of them to rise up out of it and go to college and get a good job and make a move. So you see the 17, 18 year old scally birds walking around pushing prams, a baby in the pram, maybe one on the hip and one in the oven, puffing on cigarettes, wearing their tracksuit bottoms, dirty trainers, tight shirts, side ponytails, and hoop earrings big enough to jump through. When it’s cold out, they wear black leather gloves with all sorts of gold rings worn outside the gloves.
Clinton’s friend Mark is a scally, and even admits it, he grew up in and lives in Salford (picture Durham, but about 502332423 times worse). But his dad one day decided he’d had enough, got up out of it and got a good job. Mark went to uni and studied physics, and though he’s just working in the pub now (he’s our age), he will do something with his life. It’s not that hard to change your fortune, but most of them are just too lazy and content to go on living their scally lives to do anything about it.
Americans all have this illusion of England being this posh, proper place where people speak properly and drink their tea and sit with proper posture, but that’s not the way it is. It’s so far from it, that it’s amazing. In fact, the English use the worst grammar I’ve ever heard. They say “free” instead of “three,” they say “oh, she were visiting me last week / it were raining outside / he were busy,” and instead of “I’m sitting over there,” it’s “I’m sat over there.” That doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of it all. It’s completely absurd. Who are these people? How did they get this image in the rest of the world when most of them are complete trash? They drink not only all the time but absurd amounts, it’s completely normal to see men walking around drinking Foster’s or whatever at 9am when I’m on the way to work, it’s completely normal to see old men staggering around with a fifth of liquor at 6:00 in the evening, completely unable to control themselves. Everyone, not just drunks, but all men pee on the street, no matter who is around or what time of day. They’re brash and noisy. And then there’s British on holiday, like the one’s we’d get at the hotel in Dublin. I think British on holiday have an even worse rep than American students on holiday. They are completely ludicrous.
And how did Americans get the reputation for being such a racist country, when here people still say “colored people” and use the “n” word (I hate it so much I can’t even write it to you, my friends, when making a point)? People here are so blatantly racist. Granted, you do see a lot more interracial couples here than you do at home, which perplexes me, but it’s still completely unbelievable to me.
Ok, I didn’t exactly intend that diatribe to go on for so long, I get carried away on this subject. But back to raising children, I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit lately as well. I’d like the opportunities that come with living in Europe - a wealth of languages and cultures and opportunities for travel right at your doorstep, more importance on learning foreign languages, and more opportunity to go and actually use those languages, ability to work all throughout the EU, a wonderful world perspective like you mentioned. But then there’s the family aspect. I certainly want my children to know their aunt and uncle and their grandparents, and I want my sister and Ryan and my parents to be a part of raising my children. Besides the fact that I think the support network that comes from family is pretty necessary to not only parenting but the development of a child. Perhaps “necessary” isn’t quite the right word, but very important nonetheless. And I know that it would hurt my mother so much to be so far from her grandchildren, I’m not sure if I could do it. I know it’s fairly easy to travel back and forth these days, but I wonder if I could, in good conscience, put that stress on my mother? Rachel said she didn’t think she could, regardless of where she actually wanted to live. She said she could live and get married anywhere, but when it came time to having children, she’d have to go back to Canada and be near her mother. She also said that she thinks that at that point in your life, it is your family and maybe your work that really fulfills you, not really the city you’re in, or where you are. I thought that was an interesting point, and maybe I agree a little bit but I’m not sure how much.
I’m craving red meat, I might get a burger for lunch, which kind of goes against my whole “trying to start eating healthy again” thing. Oh well. I’m going for ice cream tonight with Rach and Sue, so maybe I’ll start the healthy thing tomorrow. I did ok yesterday. Salad pita sandwiches which Clinton made for lunch, and then I had chicken, rice and broccoli and carrots for dinner. Of course, I had a pint of Kronenburg with dinner… I’m hopeless!
About relationships, I think it’s interesting because seeing my parents when they’ve visited me here and in Dublin, they seem like they’ve gotten a lot closer since I’ve been away. I think that’s a good thing. they are happy together but before I left they never really interacted that much, they very much did their own thing, and spent time together usually only to have dinner, go to Sunday school and church, or hang out with me or Megan. But since, they’ve gotten really involved with several other couples from church, they took those dance lessons for the wedding, they go do all this stuff with their friends now… it makes me happy for them. And they were so cute when they were here, walking around holding hands, kind of like they almost fell in love all over again, but not quite that mushy or gross. Just sweet.
Speaking of my parents, I expected an email back from my mom to be waiting for me this morning but there was nothing from her in my inbox, which makes me slightly nervous since I know she got home last night. Maybe she was tired from her trip but I can’t really see her not taking a moment to check her email after being gone for several days. Maybe she will respond this morning. I’d like to go ahead and hear back from her so I have some idea of what she’s thinking. My sister said not to be worried, that she didn’t think they’d flip out too much about it.
I miss the lake. If I go home in august (which I hope I do), I can’t wait to go out on the lake, and go binge on things like chick-fil-a and Bojangles. And drive my car. And I also want to give away most of the clothes that I have at home. Because I’m still irritated about the amount of stuff I have. It is entirely too much, way more than one person could ever need. Says the girl who just bought 4 shirts and a pair of shoes not 24h ago…
Tonight I have to talk to Clinton, we really have to have someone move in with us for July because I checked my bank balance yesterday and have about 2/3 what I thought I had, so I’m even more stressed out now. I need a job for July, though I’m not sure how that’s going to work. He said sports café would probably hire me and pay me by check, but that still doesn’t solve problems because you’re still recorded as paying taxes when you’re paid by check. I should check out the Indian restaurants on curry mile because I think if there’s anywhere in Manchester that would pay cash, it would be there, but sports café might offer me a bit more flexibility since I want to be in Sweden for a week in July. Both will probably pay completely shit money though. I could have worked the door at sports café last Saturday taking cover charges, but I had already committed to going out with Keith and the girls. Though it wasn’t that fun, I should have just worked and made some extra (though little) cash.
It’s 11:30, I’m hungry already, I have no work to do an none of my bosses are in the office today again. Great.
Upon all brave new breeds of old disease
on rotten roots of family trees,
on sold out universities,
Other sunset studies and these.